


The Box, the Gift, and the Gremlin

by bzarcher



Series: Widow/Tracer Fics [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Drinking, F/F, Fluff, Gag Gifts, Genji is Terrible, Hana is Terrible, Mostly Goofy, Podfic Welcome, Secrets, Underwear, a little smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8361799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Tracer gave Widowmaker a gag gift. Widowmaker will never admit it exists.So how did D.Va find out? And will she survive the experience of teasing the former Talon assassin about it?





	1. Chapter 1

Widowmaker wasn’t sure what to think when she’d entered her quarters to find a small package, wrapped in distinctive orange and blue paper.

She knew who it must be from, but opened the small card anyway taped to the top anyway.

_Saw these and knew you just had to have them!  –L._

“ _Mon dieu._ ” What had the girl done this time?

It wasn’t that Widowmaker didn’t LIKE the attention she’d gotten from Tracer practically since the day she had finally decided to become a free agent and leave Talon. She enjoyed quite a lot of it, in fact – particularly after she’d figured out that bedding the hyperactive little Brit was even more enjoyable than shooting at her.

Now that she’d begun to work regularly with Overwatch (she most certainly had not JOINED Overwatch, Widowmaker was just an independent contractor, and yes, part of her compensation was a room at the Watchpoint, but she most absolutely was NOT a member of the organization, because that was absurd), they’d begun to have something more like a relationship. Lena enjoyed sneaking around and dropping off gifts for her, or appearing after a training session to invite her out for dinner.

(She insisted on being called Widowmaker in the field. In private, Lena called her Amélie. When she went to the medical bay, Angela called her Amélie. Widowmaker still hadn’t decided if that was actually who she was.)

Widowmaker had started to return the favor, occasionally asking the smaller woman to join her for dinner on the Watchpoint’s rooftops, or to go shopping in town with the help of a bit of makeup to hide her dramatic complexion.

She’d even sat down in the rec and dining rooms with Lena on a few occasions, trying to re-learn how to socialize with the bizarre collection of ‘heroes’ that she now worked with.

It was an ongoing process.

Putting those thoughts aside, Widowmaker properly stored her rifle and equipment in the weapons locker she’d been provided, then peeled off her combat suit and dropped it into a laundry bin to be cleaned thoroughly.

She’d been in the field for over 48 hours covering an escort mission in Southern Mexico. Shower first. Mysterious box second.

* * *

Once she had washed the sweat and dust away, Widowmaker had wrapped herself in a bathrobe and settled on the bed, ready to address the box.

She would admit she was curious about what could be inside. It was a small box, not terribly thick or heavy. Jewelry, perhaps? It was about the right size for a necklace set.

Her fingernails were able to raise a seam in the paper, and from there it was simple enough to part the tape and unwrap the package. A plain white cardboard box – still no clue to where it came from or what it contained.

Lifting the lid revealed yet another layer of concealment – deep red tissue paper, wrapped carefully around something soft.

Once she opened the paper, she found… underwear? What was so special about these? The front of the briefs were cute enough, she supposed, with a flower pattern screened into the front of the material, but nothing…

_Je vais te tuer, Lena._

As she turned the fabric around, she’d realized back of the underwear was printed with a reproduction of a portrait – Marie Antoinette, Widowmaker realized after a moment – holding a few flowers in her upraised hand. But the caption printed with the portrait was what made it truly ridiculous.

**“Let Them Eat Me.”**

Disgusting. Offensive. Certainly nothing she would ever wear willingly.

But still… at least she could see how they fit, Widowmaker supposed.

Shrugging out of the bathrobe and slipping the panties on, Widowmaker moved to stand in front of the full length mirror mounted on the closet door. She would have to admit Lena had a good eye for her sizes – the fabric hugged her hips perfectly, and looked rather sexy from the front, teasing but not giving away the entire game.

Turning, she used her peripheral vision to get a look at her reflection in profile. The portrait was most of what could be seen on one side, while on the other…yes, the caption hugged the other side of her bottom quite nicely.

The idea of ambushing her lover while wearing them was starting to become oddly appealing. She began to fantasize about the feeling of Lena starting to run her hands over the fabric, the younger woman’s touch spreading warmth over her cool skin. Her mind wandered to the way her lover’s delicate lips might feel at the edge of the waistband, goosebumps rising on her skin as she imagined slim, deft fingers pulling the crotch of the fabric to the side so the Brit could follow the provocatively printed instructions...

Well.

Perhaps she would keep the underwear after all.

* * *

When Lena returned from a mission she must have been assigned to immediately after leaving the package in her room, Widowmaker was cordial, but said nothing about her ‘present’ until they were alone, sitting on top of the Watchpoint roof and sharing a bottle of wine as they watched ships passing on their way in or out of the Strait.

“I found the box.”

Lena grinned, the light shining from her accelerator’s core illuminating her features. “Do you like them?”

Widowmaker snorted. “It’s a horrible, immature, raunchy joke.”

“…and?”

“They fit well.”

“ _Do they_ ,” Lena purred as her smile turned coy, “tried them on, then?”

Widowmaker just offered an affirmative sounding hum, then stood. “I might even show you how they look.”

Lena was up on her feet within a heartbeat. “Oh, please.”

“Not here,” Widowmaker smirked as she walked slowly towards the roof access door, letting her hips sway. “Possibly not even anywhere on this continent. But the next opportunity we have for a private…deployment? You _may_ be allowed to see them. Perhaps I will even let you follow their instructions.”

Lena groaned with frustration. “Oh, come on, we haven’t seen each other in almost a _week_ …please, Amélie, this is torture.”

Widowmaker turned slightly, chuckling throatily as she reached the door. “I am not saying that we will not have a bit of fun tonight, _chérie._ Just that I will be saving your gift for a… special occasion.”

Lena nearly tripped over her own feet three times in her haste to make it to the bedroom.

* * *

Because she knew her lover was quite clever, Widowmaker realized she’d have to hide the underwear very carefully – particularly because she did not want anyone else to even know about the _possibility_ that the item of clothing might exist.

She discreetly crafted a false bottom for the top drawer of her dresser.

She anonymously purchased a lockbox to hold the underwear, and a few other intensely personal items. The lock was coded to her fingerprint and also required an eight digit passcode. (Widowmaker set it to the date she had made her decision to leave Talon, which even Lena did not know, and would be impossible for anyone else to guess.)

So she was quite shocked – mortified, really – several months later when the crude little Korean girl sat down across from her in the dining room at breakfast one morning with a cheerfully chirped “What’s up, Marie?”

Amélie (the name _was_ starting to feel more comfortable) suddenly felt incredibly thankful towards Talon for providing her with an unbeatable poker face . “I’m sorry, _Diablotine_ , I have no idea what you mean.”

Song snorted as she began eating some kind of ridiculously sugary cereal. “Oh, I think you do. I hear you got some _interesting_ new underwear a while back.”

The glower the Widowmaker offered in response to that remark wasn’t far off how she’d peered at the girl’s ridiculous pink robot through the scope of Widow’s Kiss, not so long ago. “I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Hana just giggled. “Sure you don’t, Spider-bitch. GG.”

Amélie very patiently waited for Hana to eat and leave, ignoring the rest of the girl’s attempts at provocation, and then briskly walked (most certainly did NOT run) to her quarters.

The false bottom was undisturbed.

The lockbox was sealed.

The keypad for the passcode was untampered with.     

The last time she had taken the underwear out had been more than a month ago, and she had carefully kept the pair buried in the bottom of her suitcase. She had done all of her laundry at the hotel in Hong Kong they’d occupied for the better part of a week for their ‘anniversary’ before returning, and one of the first things she’d done when she’d gotten back to Gibraltar was ensure the panties had been safely locked away once again.

She was reasonably certain Lena would not tell anyone about the underwear, either. Particularly since she was quite aware that Amélie would do worse than kill her: She’d ensure “Tracer” wouldn’t have any cavalry “coming” for at LEAST a month.

So how did that little pink menace _know?_

* * *

Amélie never did determine how Hana had found out about the underwear. But after six months of ‘near misses’ during training (culminating in an incident during a live-fire exercise where she had ‘accidentally’ shot D.Va’s ridiculous little toy of a pistol cleanly out of her hands), Hana stopped with her insinuations, and Widowmaker stopped targeting her so relentlessly.

Lena swore vehemently that she’d never told anyone – but particularly _not Hana_ – about the underwear’s existence. Amélie used enough methods of persuasion over that same six month period while interrogating the Brit that she was quite confident her lover was telling the truth.

She really _did_ enjoy the way Lena reacted when she wore them, though. Amélie had used them sparingly, and the novelty still hadn’t quite faded, so each time meant a special and often quite _satisfying_ experience.

She’d still never admit she owned that pair of underwear to anyone else, though.

And especially not how much she loved them.


	2. Epilogue

9 months earlier

Hana was thrilled at how tonight’s stream had turned out. She hadn’t been that excited about playing _Ace Combat XXV: Omnic Buster!_ , but one of her sponsors had insisted, and bringing an _actual_ fighter pilot in to help with commentary to her fans as they played the game had been hilarious. Especially once Tracer had been egged into taking a shot of soju and eating a stick’s worth of Fun Dip each time she said “It doesn’t work like that!”

By the end of the fourth mission they’d played through, Hana had needed to text Genji and ask him to run into town for another bottle before continuing on. Somehow, Lena actually turned into a better virtual pilot as she’d gotten progressively more hyper and wasted, and she’d almost challenged D.Va’s top score by the end of the night, to the delight of everyone watching.

After taking a couple of ridiculously posed selfies to end the show (including one where Genji dropped in _upside down_ between them that prompted Lena into the most _hilarious_ overreaction), they’d sent the ninja packing before Hana did her best to help the not terribly steady Brit back to her room.

“’S was _great_ , Hana! Absolutely _fantastic!_ Ought to do this again! Maybe I could even teach y’how to _reeeeeally_ fly.”

Hana giggled at the idea. “Winston would probably only let you do that if you’re actually sober.”

“Pssh,” Lena grinned crookedly, “what do you think the simulator is for? Back at Empire the lads would do sim runs pissed every Friday night! ‘t was _Smashin!_ Coz we all crashed.” Descending into giggles, Lena nearly lost her balance, barely catching herself against the wall.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Hana promised as she pulled Lena through the door to her room, “that could be pretty fun if I could figure out how to stream it.”

“Jes’ need a camera or two – maybe we could get Genji t’help? Aaaanyway, haven’t had such fun in _ages_. Not since I got Amé her little prezzie.”

Hana’s eyebrows raised as she sat Lena down and helped pull off her shoes and socks. She was on her own for the rest, though. “Prezzie?”

“Yeah!” Lena grinned. “Y’know, a present?” Leaning in, her voice hushed conspiratorially. “ _Isssa secret._ Like, totally drop dead, slit yer own throat before readin’ stuff.”

Hana smirked. “I gotta hear this…”

* * *

Lena woke up the next morning, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn to Hana’s stream, the normally soft hum of her Anchor sounding like a buzz saw in her ears. Her mouth felt like a wad of cotton had been stuffed into it, and her head was pounding as if Reinhardt had gotten trapped inside and was trying to use that hammer of his to bash his way out.

She vaguely remembered doing shots…those ridiculously stupid video game planes…Genji dropping down from the ceiling…and from there it was a blank. Someone must have poured her into bed, she supposed. Thank god she’d decided to leave her full rig back in her room before they started streaming. Last time she’d tried blinking and rewinding while drunk Winston’d had an absolute _fit._

Good thing Amélie had been out doing recon with Satya and Jack. She’d have never heard the end of this one otherwise.

Rolling out of bed with a groan, she gingerly made her way to the bathroom for an aspirin, then began the walk of shame to the kitchen. Maybe some beans on toast would fix this.

**Author's Note:**

> The underwear in question, which is [in fact a real thing and can be purchased](http://textilechampion.myshopify.com/products/let-them-eat-me-marie-antoinette-black-flower-print-organic-cotton-bikini-womens-underwear-lingerie)


End file.
